Fate's Fire
by Rethwellan
Summary: A young lieutenant begins to walk the web of fate and becomes caught up in a situation that will find his beliefs tested by things he could not have expected.


**Autor's notes** - This story is not a true fanfiction work in that it doesn't use a particular setting or characters created in a specific literature. For the moment I'm posting it here and will move it across to FictionPress if people have an issue. In some ways it can be seen as a bit of a tribute to the original. The story draws the core idea and some of what it occurs from a short lived tv series that ran for a few months back round 1996 - 1997, or whenever it came out in the states. I will not reveal the name of the show, since that would spoil some of the surprises.

Since I, one, have never even visited LA and, two, do not know the exact setup for police ranks and things, editing may be needed in a few places, but let me know if I'm way off. Also, please post any **creative **criticism. Ie the type that actually may help me in the long run. I'm not looking to be flamed, just to get some help. Otherwise, enjoy. There are a number of episodes to come, if I don't run away screaming.

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**A First Step**

At least once in their life, people experience a moment when, upon reaching the conclusion of a journey, they look back and attempt to trace the paths that have led them to that exact point. Hindsight provides them with the chance to observe Fate's tapestry of life, woven in and around everything until it's difficult to distinguish where one begins and another ends. The path a man seems to walk is not necessarily the path he finds himself on. But, to begin to tread upon that path, the first step needs to be taken, and the story must unfold.

Matthew Davids stepped out of the tiny shower that occupied almost his entire bathroom, rubbing the remains of sleep out of his grey eyes. Grabbing a threadbare towel from the clip behind the door, he began to dry himself off as he wandered into his loft apartment. As a newly promoted lieutenant in a Los Angeles precinct, he'd been lucky to find an affordable apartment at all, and the few pieces of extra furniture seemed to attest to the situation.

Grabbing the cup of coffee that was barely luke-warm from the kitchen counter, his eye was attracted to the flashing red light of his answering machine. Grumbling about early mornings and not letting a man shower, let alone sleep, he reached over and hit playback.

"Beep! Hey, Matt, have you seen the news. Seems like Lawson has screwed up again and is blaming the department for his inadequacies. Hope you're ready for a bollicking from the chief when we get in. See you bright and early."

"Why, oh why, do I deal with this?" groans Davids', "I could have a nice nine to five job. I could have a wife and kids and possibly a dog. But no, I have to take the blame for DA's inadequacies and hear about it on the news. Great," as he jabs his finger down for the next message.

"Beep! Morning, lieutenant. Sorry to get you up, but they've found a body down by the canals and you're next on the list. Coroner's on his way and all the normal people are on their way. Let us know when you get this or your beeper."

"And now the day's work begins," sighs Davids. Walking across to his bed, he checks the number on his beeper and then dials up the duty officer. Checking in and finding that there's no rush especially since no-one wants to deal with the chief this morning, he flicks on the old black and white TV before grabbing a bowl of cereal and plonking himself on the edge of the bed, still clad only in his towel.

"…police chief Kenning could not be reached for comment on the situation," echoes across the room as Davids snorts at the snippet. "In other news, German elections are heating up as the country seems split between the current administration and new comers De Löwenvolk. Led by Hans Gerber, this enigmatic party has risen from obscurity in recent months. Analysts are predicting it will be a close race …"

"Great, I missed all the interesting parts," grumbled Davids as he muted the sound and got back to the job of dressing. Standing in front of the only clean reflective surface in the loft, he examined himself as he slipped into a pair of jeans, open-collared work shirt and boots. At thirty-three, he was starting to show the wear and tear that life on the force brought with it. Standing in at 6' 1", the job and the time he spent hiking when he could kept him in good shape. He grimaced at the scar that crossed his chest where a punk had cut him a few years earlier, but outside of that he was okay. A face that was neither here nor there looked out at him from the mirror and the half smile that seemed to regularly grace his lips appeared for a split second. Black hair that was just short enough for regulation finished off the spectacle as he grabbed what was left of his coffee and headed over to the one wall of the loft.

The wall is covered from floor to ceiling in pictures and paper. Some pictures are mug shots of various people, some taken at odd angles. Most of them are Polaroids, but seem to be police issue. Surrounding these are crime scene photos, and next to these are pictures of items and weapons. Scrawled notes abound, tacked onto photos, off by themselves in a corner or sometimes just question marks in the middle of nowhere. And all of it is connected by strands of red string, which flow out from every direction, seeming to get tangled together and then seeking out areas of the collage. Eventually, they all seem to converge on one spot, one picture, one man. A man the DA just probably let walk.

Davids looks down at the box sitting against the wall and the dangling threads that have been removed from the map that he began to take apart the previous night. Shaking his head, he promises himself he will do it tomorrow. Maybe.

Grabbing a bomber jacket from where it had fallen on the floor the night before, he heads for the door; jangling the keys in the lock and hearing it slide into place. As per usual, the elevator is out and he has to take the five flights down and out through the back of the apartment block to the closed off alley where he parked his Dodge Challenger. Restored by his father, it was a present upon his promotion and Davids slumps into the driver's seat feeling just a little better for a second. Switching on the ignition, he pulls out into the traffic and he makes his way out into a new day.

* * *

Traffic is relatively light and he makes good time to the scene, parking his car a block or so away. The air is crisp, only a hint that it's late autumn and the weak sunlight slides across the city. Strolling up to the few reporters who were awake enough to make it down here this early, Davids pushes through to a couple of grumbles and flashes his badge to the officer on duty. Sliding down the embankment, he makes his way towards the knot of cops milling round a spot of concrete about a hundred meters away.

As he approaches, he spots Joe Higgins, the coroner, leaning against the gurney slightly away from the scene and angles towards him. As he approaches, Higgins stubs out the cigarette his smoking and tosses him a wave, beginning to amble in his direction.

"Morning Matt."

"Morning Joe. So, what do you have for me this beautiful, bloody early Wednesday morning?"

The two start ambling towards the other officers which include a photographer, a few beat cops and Joe's assistant. "Well, we're basically done here. Andy's taking a last few photo's and Patricia and I'll remove the poor darling as soon as you've had your look. Your boys had a good look around before we arrived, but they seem to have turned-up bubkiss."

Andy Carstens from forensics takes a step back as they approach. Sandy hair glinting in the early morning light, he lets the camera hang by it's strap as he hunches down next to the body. His tall frame looks odd in that position since at 6' 7", it just seems unnatural.

"Any ideas?" Davids asks to the world in general as he hunkers down next to Carstens.

"Not really," drawls Andy as he continues to look at the victim. In her early twenties, the girl is lying on her side, head rested on her arm, almost as if asleep. Her long brown hair whips in the light breeze that blows down the canal and her skin is tinged red by the cold. She's wearing a summer dress with a long trench coat over it. Odd apparel for any time of year.

"The only indication of anything is this," replies Joe as he carefully lifts her coat back with his latex gloved hands and shows Matt five penny sized holes in the shape of a horse shoe in the dress just above her left breast. The skin through the holes is dark red, almost black.

"What do you think? Cigarettes?"

"Don't know, will be able to tell you once we get her back to the lab. Odd though. No signs of a struggle or anything else that I can see at the moment."

"Well, you're the best we have, so starting doing what you do. Let me know."

"Gee, thanks."

Davids turns to Andy and points at the camera. "You mind?"

"Not at all. Yours sometimes pick up things not even I see. Though I did notice you forgot the Polaroid. Thought it never leaves your side," her comments as he hands over the camera.

"I think it was too early in the morning. Either that or it's sitting in the car and I'm just getting senile," chuckles Davids as he begins to walk around the body, taking pictures. "Your people been?"

"Been and gone. Wasn't much to see. The area seems fairly clean, but you never know, someone may have picked something up. Don't know what your boy's handed over, I was too busy here."

Davids continues to take a few more photos before handing the camera back to Andy. Nodding to Joe, who calls over his assistant to start organizing the body, he walks over to the officers who are passing round a thermos of coffee about twenty meters from the body.

Grabbing hopefully at the flask, it gets passed over by one of the cops and Davids takes a deep sip. "Mana from heaven," he sighs as he passes it back. "Anything you guys can tell me."

"Not really, lieutenant. There was no-one around when we got here about three hours ago. The call was anonymous and it took us a bit of time to find the body. Since then we've been holding down the fort," recites one of the cops as the others nod in agreement.

"Did anyone find anything?"

"Nope. Let the forensics people handle that. They left about fifteen minutes before you arrived. Only Andy still around."

"Thanks guys. Make sure Joe is done here and then clear out home. Just make sure I get those reports. I'm now off to see just how much of my life is going to flash before my eyes when the chief gets a hold of me."

The officers chuckle and wish him luck as he begins the trek back to his car. When the reporters ask their normal questions, he shakes his head and informs them that the details will be released shortly. As he climbs back into his Challenger, he tries to decide if his astrology chart would be calling this a good day, or the beginning of trouble.

* * *

The precinct is a hive of activity at any time of the day or night, but even more so on a day like today. Everyone seems particularly busy, paperwork that's been crowding up in trays for weeks suddenly becomes more important than life itself, and the usually crowded coffee machine stands quiet and alone in its place of honor. If it wasn't for the deathly stillness in the bustle that is a normal precinct, you would think this was the hardest working precinct in the city.

This was what greeted Matthew Davids upon his arrival. Eyes looked up and then quickly returned to their work, though ears strained for the slightest sound. Footsteps started down the corridor towards him, stumbled, then thought better of it. If he didn't know any better, Matt would think everyone was avoiding him.

Slipping through the fire escape door, Matt made his way up the stairs to door to the second floor. Quietly opening the door, he glanced out towards the safety of his desk in the large communal bullpen and quietly stepped out into the corridor between the two conference rooms.

As he neared the end of the corridor, he prepared himself for the final dash, when from behind someone grabbed him and hauled him backwards and into one of the conference rooms.

"What the …?"

"Shh! You don't want anyone to let the chief know you're here yet, do you?" whispered Sandy Williams, a beat cop who he used to work with, as she closed the door behind her. "Especially not before I get to do this," she whispers as she raps her arms around him and plants a kiss upon his lips.

After a short while they part a little and she stares at him for a moment in silence. "So, are we still on for the weekend," she yawns before turning and heading for the coffee machine in the corner.

"Yeah," he coughs, "I've organized for Yeltzer to take over my watch on Saturday. What exactly is the plan though? I'm hearing rumors that your parents are coming down and I'm on the guest list." The last he says as she hands him a mug, all the time eyeing the girl who until last month he had just been friends with.

Sitting at just over five and a half feet, Sandy was a willowy young woman who had been his partner when he still walked the beat for about four years. His junior by about six years, they had become close friends and after he was promoted, they had both realized that there was more involved as well. Sometimes he would find himself eyeing her red hair and green eyes and wonder why the hell it had taken this long for him to realize. She now sat on the table and blew upon her coffee, watching him over the top.

"So I see I couldn't keep it a secret. Yep, the parents are coming down, and they want to me the guy who's been looking after their baby for the last few years. Relax though, they don't know about recent developments. Though I think they'll pick it up fairly quickly."

"Ahh. The fun of meeting the parents. Well, I knew what I was getting myself into before I started. Just promise me that you won't leave me alone with them. Next thing I know they'll be asking me about our sex life and your dad will be pulling a shotgun."

"Ha! What sex life? Neither of us have the time. Anyway, from what I hear they'll have to beat the chief to it. The rumor-mill says you're going to my partner again before the end of the week if you don't play this right."

"Bloody Lawson. Well, I may as well not avoid the firing squad any longer." Finishing his coffee, he plonks it down next to Sandy and leans over for a quick kiss. "And you probably should get back on duty before anyone finds you playing hookie."

"Spoil sport. Call me tonight, okay? You can tell me all about the new hole the captain's going to tear you."

Matt slips through the door, a final blown kiss following him out and makes the dash for his desk. A brief lull seems to precede him, but no-one gets in his way. As he begins to seat himself, the office goes quiet and a door bangs open. Matt winces even before he ears register the wave of sound.

"Davids! My office! Now!"

Matt receives a few winces and grins of good luck and heaves himself across the room and into the office of Captain Kenning. The chief's desk is littered with pieces of paper and a white telephone sits in one corner, replacing the usual black one which is now sitting in a broken mess against one wall. The chief is staring out the window, chewing his lip as he glares out at the day.

Davids takes one of the chairs in front of the desk, waiting in silence.

"I've been getting calls all morning from the papers, the chief of police and local community leaders," growls Kenning, "I spoke with Lawson half an hour ago, and he told me that my officers had stuffed up the investigation. Everyone is talking about what happened as if I'm supposed to know and I'm sitting here apologizing for something I know nothing about. Now, please let me know why I shouldn't put you back on the streets this second."

"Honestly, sir, I have no idea what is going on myself. But," he comments as Kenning whirls round to face him, "everything was done to procedure. I checked it myself. No-one did anything illegal and everything was documented. All rights were observed. When I sent everything over to the DA's office, everything was in order."

"That's not what I'm hearing here," rumbled the chief, "What little I've heard is that the defense were able to find a loop hole and that Lawson is blaming us for letting a mass-murder go. The department is looking bad, therefore I'm looking bad, therefore you're up the creek without a paddle."

"Look, sir. I did everything by the book. It was my first case and I didn't want to stuff it up. Bailey would tell you that, but he's in Florida at the moment enjoying his retirement. Lawson probably stuffed up and I'm an easy target."

Kenning collapses into his chair and eyes Davids. A smile starts to crack upon his face and the man with over thirty years of experience says quietly, "Good. Because that's exactly what your old partner is saying and exactly what I've been telling everyone. With the way Lawson has been stuffing up recently, it should all be cleared up by the end of the day. Just stay low and out of the limelight and do your job."

The tension seems to lift, and Matt relaxes into the chair. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad for the support."

"Just don't expect me to be so helpful next time. If you do stuff up, it's your head. Now get out and stop slouching. It's already ten and the city's not going to wait for us."

Matt nods and heads over to the door, closing it behind him as the chief returns to his work.

"Oh, and get someone to come in and clean up that phone!"

Heads turn and glance his way, but with a smile of reassurance, Matt heads over to his desk. For the first time since he entered, conversations start-up and the office returns to normal functioning as everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

A note is pinned to his desk when he sits down, asking him to talk to dispatch as soon as he arrives. Picking up the phone, Matt dials them up and asks about the message.

"Oh hi, lieutenant. I've been told that you're needed by beat. Something about an old friend of yours causing a ruckus."

"Okay, I've just had to deal with the chief and I'm not exactly thinking properly. Explain."

"That's all I was told, sir. I was given an address and told to tell you to get down there. Oh, and someone mentioned a Michael or something."

"Michael? Great, just what I need today," groans Davids. Thanking the dispatcher, he gets the address and grabs his coat before heading for the door. But instead of being upset, he walks jauntily and a smile plays across his face.

* * *

Matt pulls in behind the cop car sitting just back from the intersection given by the address, kills the engine and surveys the scene. A couple of cops are standing around directing cars down side roads, but otherwise grinning at the spectacle. A few passers-by have stopped to gawk and residents in the area are hanging out of the windows, but otherwise it seems like a normal, quiet suburban day.

That is, except for the man, lying on a lawn chair, in the middle of the intersection. Tanning. That half smile glides across Matt's face as he gets out of the Challenger and starts walking towards a cop slouched against his car. Only Michael could pull this off. Only Michael.

Matt thinks back to the first time the two met, on a blustery Sunday morning whilst Matt was on the beat. Michael was living out of the park at the time, and when Matt came across the shivering gentleman, he took him to one of the local delis for breakfast. During the next six years, the two had become friends. The beat cop and the clean-shaven, mostly washed, bible spouting, homeless man. Everyone on the force knew about their relationship and knew to give Matt a call when they needed to deal with Michael.

Strolling up to the officer, Matt asks, "So any reason you haven't moved him yet?"

"No, sir. He just seemed very insistent about speaking with you. And, uhm, we thought it would be better to leave him there until you arrived."

"Yeah, that's usually the case," muttered Matt as he continued down the road. People seemed to listen to Michael, but this was definitely a first when it came to scale. And wanting to talk to him? Usually he just came around the station if that was the case.

Approaching Michael, Matt crouched down next to the lawn chair and flipped up Michael's sun glasses.

"Morning, old man."

"Hooray, the prodigal son has returned!" shouted Michael as he jumped up and scooped Matt to his feet, showing a lot of strength for a man who seemed to be in his fifties, "What brings you here?"

Glancing around him, Matt grins and replies, "Well, all this, of course. And the fact that you asked for me of course."

"Yes, yes. Take a seat, dear boy, and lets get on with it. Got a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about it." Moving back onto the chair, Michael sits down and pulls two ginger-ales from nowhere, passing one across to Matt.

"You sure you don't want to move somewhere else, Michael. You know, somewhere less in the way?"

"Oh come now. Where else would I want to be? There is only one place and this is the place. Can you think, of any reason why I should move then?"

Shaking his head, Matt takes a seat on the edge of the chair and looks over at Michael. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

"This and that. The everything and the nothing. You know, fate, destiny and life. Do you believe in any of that wishy-washy stuff."

"Some. I mean, I've seen a lot and the way cases fall together, sometimes you just can't not think about it. Sometimes though, well, I don't always know."

"Bull. You're the one with case charts on the wall. The one who watches them develop as they spin their intricate little pattern of red threads upon your domain. And then you follow them and unravel them until all you see is the truth and the one path that will lead you to your destiny. And you say you doubt it at times!"

"I know I should never have shown you that."

"Like I would not have known without it. I mean, you are the center of so many stories. So many of those little threads touch upon you as they make their way towards their goal, upon the journey known as life. Ah, Matt my boy, you really don't know how much I've missed that journey."

Matt glanced at the old man suspiciously and then took another glance at the ginger-ale in his hand. "Okay, what have you put in this stuff. Because it may taste like ginger-ale, but it sure as hell doesn't sound like that's what you've been drinking."

Michael stands up and looks out down the streets, drinking in the sunlight, before tossing the bottle over a wall and listening to it smash against the ground on the other side. "Oh, Matt. What sweet nectar you drink, but not know. What sweet air you breath, but do not taste. What sweet love you draw in a world of fading pleasures. I envy you and yours, for I have been and gone and seen it all and all again."

Standing gingerly, Matt places his hand on Michael's shoulder and speaking gently, turns him to face him. "Come on, Michael. Let me take you home."

Tears running down his face, Michael stares up at the heavens, "Yes, I think you will Matt, I think you will." Suddenly, he grabs Matt's head in his hands and stares fiercely into his eyes, "Promise me something. Promise me you'll not begrudge me this. Promise me that whatever happens, you'll remember why I did this, and not begrudge me for it."

Slowly, removing his hands from his face, Matt answers, "Yes, Michael. I promise you. Now lets go home."

Michael leans forward and kisses Matt once upon each cheek. "Thank you, my friend. Now it can happen."

The only warning that Matt receives is the roar from behind him. It deafens him and knocks him forward into Michael. Pushing himself up, he looks into Michael's eyes, full of sorrow, but also full of a kind of hope. Glancing down he sees the blood slowly trickling down the front of his shirt as he begins to feel the pain spreading across his back from the entry wound and out the exit wound in his chest.

He stumbles back, falling backwards onto the lawn chair as his vision begins to blur, and the sun shimmers in the heavens above him. As the darkness creeps across his vision, he sees Michael step over him and from a long way off hears, "Rest easy, my son. I will forever be in your debt."

* * *

A distant shimmer approaches, a rumbling thundering vision that fills the senses. However, as if from a long way away, voices can be heard speaking in hushed tones in echoing halls.

The shimmer begins to sharpen and a horse and rider can be seen rushing forward.

At the same time a new voice enters the halls, shouting, "Sir, sir. Urgent message for, you sir."

The horse and rider can now be seen more clearly as they rush forward, covered in armor beaten and bloodied.

The voices stop and one speaks, "Please do not shout in this sanctuary. What is it?"

"Sorry, sir, but I thought you would want to hear right away. It's about Michael, sir."

The rider draws a curved sword from his belt as he approaches and cross can be seen entwined with a dragon and emblazoned upon his armor.

"What about Michael? I spoke with him not a minute ago. There didn't seem to be a problem then."

"No, sir, the other Michael."

The rider draws his arm back as the horse drives itself to a frenzy mere meters away, snorting and braying as it approaches.

"Other Michael? What other … Michael? No, … it cannot be. You're sure?"

"Yes, sir."

The rider swings his sword and it sings through the air, the blade flashing as it approaches and the world suddenly goes dark.

"This is going to cause trouble."


End file.
